


Through rain and storms, too

by charcoalscenes



Series: I don't know man I didn't think I'd get this far [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Fluff without Plot, Hand Feeding, Pining, Post-Canon, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: Who you gonna call?(It’s a dark and stormy night, and filled with dread after making a pretty obvious mistake, Kotori calls someone with a questionable track record for making everything feel better.)
Relationships: Mizuki Kotori/Tsukumo Yuuma
Series: I don't know man I didn't think I'd get this far [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070978
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Through rain and storms, too

There’s a new sound coming from the basement, but there’s nothing to investigate. During the day, in the brighter hours, it’s an annoyance at worst. They’ve tried to figure out what’s been making the racket, but nothing’s come up. Worst case, it’s the pipes. More likely, it’s mice in the walls. Traps have been set, repellants plugged in – and it should be easy to forget about it afterwards. 

It’s all the more louder when they settle down for the night, tucked in bed, eyes closed, all quiet until the sharp taps and scratching start up again. More so in the dark, there’s a sense that it could be anything. Mice, yes. A branch too close to the window, yes. The pipes, or the house settling in. Another member of the family, snoring, loud so that their breathing travels through the halls like a moving thing. It could be the wind. 

The phone ringing isn’t as much of a comfort as it is something akin to a siren; while every other noise is consistent but subtle, this one is blaring by comparison, and rather than distracting, it only emphasizes all the aforementioned discomforts through its contrast. Bare feet patter on the way to pick up the call. It’s past midnight; no one should be calling, and anyone who does might be in an emergency, or otherwise have urgent news. Of course anyone would pick up the phone, then. 

“Hello?” 

There’s a strange interference from the other end of the line, less like static and more like the draft that’s penetrated the house lately. Then, it’s clearer, reminiscent of the breathing, the light snoring, from before – except it’s not coming from the other bedrooms, or the halls, and it sounds less like someone stirring in their sleep now. This one is awake. 

The voice on the other end is humming, deliberating, and the phone is gripped tighter, eyes wide next to it, unsettled by how familiar the voice is when it shouldn’t be. It belongs to no other family member living here, but it’s absolutely wandered through the home before. “I’m here.” It says. 

“Who?” The reply is too belated, the stunned silence too prolonged, and anyone with any sense would have commented on it, but the one on call doesn’t, gives too much time for their recipient’s hesitation, like it was expected. 

“Hm.” Again, the creaking, the scratching; the mice and trees and wind and house. “You won’t come–” To the basement, where there’s nothing, there was nothing; they all checked. “–then I will. I’ll show you.” 

* * *

Kotori’s phone rings, and it’s a bad time for it. 

She pauses the movie, heart pounding, and it doesn’t make sense; she knows she’s making a big deal out of it, out of nothing. It doesn’t take away from the fact that the timing is horrible, and she seriously debates whether or not to just let it ring, get on with her movie, and not even bother to put herself through the agony of touching it the way the girl in the movie decided to touch it. 

But this isn’t a movie. This is her house. And there isn’t a ghost. Nothing’s in her basement. And it’s already past midnight; anyone calling at this hour either has the wrong number or has something urgent to say. And who’s to say it isn’t her mom calling from the hotel on her business trip, just checking in? 

What greets her when she does reach the home phone, however, doesn’t bring her any comfort. There is no caller ID from the other end, only the word “UNKNOWN” displayed – which is rare, nowadays; even if they’ve never saved someone’s contact information, it can still detect the city the call is made from, or the name of the phone’s owner. 

She doesn’t have to pick it up. The girl in the movie didn’t have to pick it up. But Kotori braces herself. She’s sensible. She’s brave. She doesn’t live her life based on horror flicks, and she’s not scared to use her own damn phone. Out of pure will, with the power of spite, she takes the call. There’s no video accompanying it. 

“Hello?” 

There’s silence first, and then, static, garbled and brief. Kotori waits for it to clear up, going rigid despite herself and the conviction she held just now. She can hang up. She should hang up. There’s something obviously interfering with the call. It’s nothing. 

It starts ringing in a single unbroken tone, not painfully so, but high and sharp, and it doesn’t stop until it’s too much like an unending scream – and it’s just interference, just a faulty line, and none of those possibilities matter anymore; Kotori cannot care in the least as she hangs up, frantic, and immediately afterwards reaches for the Gazer she’s kept in her pajama pocket. She dials. 

Yuma answers after an infinitude of rings, video not turned on, but his voice murmuring through a haze of sleepiness. “Huh… ‘Tori…?” 

“Hey, Yuma. Can you come over?” 

* * *

By the time Yuma arrives, it’s around one-fifteen in the morning, and he’s wide awake from the run. His shoes are wet and so is his jacket, so Kotori feels almost bad for making him come over. But sans the shoes and outerwear, he seems fine and dry. 

“It’s raining?” 

“Oh, yeah. I think it’s getting pretty bad out, actually. So! I’m staying here tonight!” He declares without invite, which is just as well, and also far from the first time he’s done so. At once, he places his hands on his hips, all business. “What’s the issue?”

She hadn’t told him the problem, exactly, on the call, only trusting that he would get here with minimum explanations – also not the first time that’s happened, but it’s the first time it’s happened in the middle of a dark and stormy night. 

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” She promises, not proud. At the time, it seemed as though she had all the reason in the world to panic, but now, with Yuma right here and ready for some answers, it all seems too silly. “Do you want a bite to eat?” 

It’s just to stall; she knows Yuma will say yes and get distracted by the promise of her or her mother’s cooking, but not forever. Having him sit in her kitchen, away from the living area – where that damn movie is still on pause – helps her build up to it, though. Besides, he’ll have a harder time making fun of her if his mouth is full of food and chewing. 

This is Yuma, though, so she can’t completely bank on that. 

After his first bite, though, it’s him who speaks first. “How’s the new house feeling?” 

“It’s okay.” Honest as that answer would be any other time, right now, it feels like a lie. “The size isn’t as much of a difference as I thought it would be, especially with the, uh–” She holds herself back from shivering. The word alone sounds like a curse, a summoning, at the moment. “–the basement.” 

“Did you make that your bedroom?” 

“Oh, _no_.” If she’d been against the idea before, she’s doubly so now. Yuma blinks at the passion of her response, going as far as pausing from taking another bite, and Kotori rubs a palm on her forehead. This is as good of an opening as any. “I did something stupid.” She admits. 

Yuma places the snack and his hands down, wide-eyed and waiting. Kotori cringes, looking to her ceiling for guidance, and when that doesn’t work, she glances back at the direction of the living area, second guessing the whole idea of him coming here, and of confessing why she’d invited him. 

“Kotori?” 

“My mom is out. You know that, right? For two days.” 

“Yeah, you told me.” 

“Well, I’m by myself.” She states, uncaring that it’s rhetorical if it can buy her a few seconds more of her dignity. “And I’m in a new house.” Saying it all aloud makes it sound worse. “And I don’t need to get up early tomorrow, so I can stay up and watch some movies. Right?” 

“Right.” Yuma nods emphatically, ever easily influenced by the enthusiasm of others. 

“So, that’s what I did.” With that, she sees that he continues to wait for the rest, expectant. “Have you heard of Unjourney?” 

Yuma’s eyes light up. “Oh, you were watching Unjourney?” He asks, excited, as though this is a conversation the two of them are having in the daytime, in a normal context, and he wants to know what she thought of it. Then, just as he opens his mouth to speak again, it dawns on him (Kotori can just _tell_ that it dawns on him), and he pauses. Blinking again, he repeats, more subdued, “You were watching Unjourney?” 

“I was watching Unjourney.” She confirms, and then it’s her turn to wait. The wheels of Yuma’s brain turn in real-time, Kotori a first-hand witness to it all, before the response she’s dreaded inevitably comes to light. 

A smile breaks out on his face. He says again, voice trembling with a mirth that could make Kotori reach across the table and renounce his food, “You were _watching Unjourney?_ ” 

She does just that, then, yanking the plate from right under his nose, but even with the punishment she deals him, he still lets himself break into a fit of snickering. 

* * *

He promises that he’ll help her get over her fear of spooky newly bought houses if she gives him back the food. So, she does. When Yuma tells her after finishing that the answer is to watch the rest of the movie, she realizes it wasn’t worth it. 

“Listen, I’m right!” Yuma argues, already stepping in Kotori’s sitting room. The television is still on to the last scene she was on, the screen showing the protagonist’s fearful expression during her last call, but Yuma doesn’t pay it much mind yet, focusing instead on Kotori’s sullen pout. “What if the movie has a happy ending, eh? The ghost or whatever is defeated, then that’ll make you feel better.” 

“And what if it _doesn’t_ have a happy ending?” Kotori responds testily. “It’s a _horror_ movie, Yuma.” 

“If it doesn’t have a happy ending, then at least you’ll have, ah, resolution. Closure! And I’m here! It’ll feel better watching the movie now that I’m here.” 

“You just want to watch the movie, don’t you!” 

“Of course I want to watch the movie but that’s not why I’m saying we should do this! It’s to help you! And we shouldn’t watch it in the dark. Right?” Yuma peers around, frowning like he knows what he’s talking about, and observes rather professionally, “Scary movies are worse if you’re watching them in the dark.” 

“Thanks.” Kotori snaps. But he’s right at least about that one last thing, and so she brightens up the room again, like she’s not watching a movie. “Okay, we’ll do this your way.” Never mind that this has been on her radar to watch for a month now, and it actually is just as good as she’s been hoping – perhaps unfortunately so. “I’ll get us some more snacks and drinks. I know what I have out already isn’t going to last you.” 

“Thank you, Kotori!” He cheers. “Let me help!” 

“No, just restart the movie. I wasn’t too far into it. We can watch it from the beginning since you’re here.” 

On second viewing, Yuma’s points continue to prove valid. Both making themselves comfortable on the couch, they settle with Kotori curled up on his side, his arm over her shoulder. The way that works out is that in order for him to eat the snacks that Kotori has on her lap, his arm and hand need to pass by her peripheral vision, close to her face. It’s inconsiderate and she tells him as much, but neither of them make much of an effort to move, only shifting slightly so Kotori’s gaze can look on from a higher angle. 

The fuss and the lighting make things considerably less scary – for her, at least. For Yuma, he shifts closer. The smell of rain is still on him, just a bit. Kotori answers the movement in kind by sliding closer to his warmth. 

“I wouldn’t go in that house.” He’s said – multiple times, in fact. “It’s got bad vibes and they know it. How could you spend money on something that gives you this much bad vibes?” 

“It looks pretty. That’s why.” 

“Is that why you bought this house, too? Is it haunted, but also just pretty?” 

She squeezes his cheek in retribution until he squeals for that, and for a while longer, he’s quiet. The movie, as it turns out, is still good even from a more clinical and distant standpoint, with or without Yuma acting as a one-man peanut gallery. 

The protagonist’s first red flag is replayed on screen, during her second night in the house. She decides to stay up while the rest of the family retires to bed so she can continue unpacking. She stops, and freezes at what sounds like moaning. It’s the same sound that the family heard during the day, attributed merely to the floors getting used to their new weight. Calling out her brother’s name, she assumes that someone is just awake and wandering. She goes to investigate. 

“I wouldn’t do that.” Yuma mutters, the sentiment completely false. 

“Shh.” 

This has happened before, too, Yuma snuggling Kotori closer at more tense scenes. It’s a wonder why the two of them even bother to still depend on each other for support through scary movie after scary movie. Neither of them handle it well. It’s not a working system, practically speaking. 

Kotori places a hand on Yuma’s comfortingly, never having felt very practical when approaching things with him, anyway. 

Inching closer to the basement, the character flicks on the light at the top of the stairs, though it does nothing to illuminate what’s at the bottom of the stairwell. Again, she tries calling out her sibling’s name, and for a moment, there’s silence. Then, the moaning, not from the basement, but impossibly loud and entirely too close, beside her ear. She gasps, turning, and outright shrieks. Yuma yelps. 

Outside the window of the woman’s house, directly in her line of sight, is another woman, waving innocuously for her attention. At once, the protagonist deflates, heaving a sigh of relief at seeing the other, and with one more uneasy glance at the basement, she briskly switches the light off and shuts the door. She goes to open the front for her friend. 

“There was a ghost!” 

“Yes, Yuma.” It feels powerful to view these scenes the second time around. Still unsettled by the mood of the film, Kotori finds herself handling it significantly better than before. For now, at least. 

“They gotta move out right away. That isn’t normal? Is this happening in your house too, Kotori?” 

“Yuma, if you mention my real life actual house again in relation to this movie…” 

Door opening, the two women envelop one another in a deep hug, and pull away only to share a sweet kiss. They exchange pleasantries, and while it was all fluff when Kotori was seeing this portion by herself, she’s piqued by the dialogue now, immediately attuned to the familiarity of it. 

The girlfriend asks, “How’s the new place treating you?” She peers about curiously, at its layout and the boxes half unpacked. The main character answers, unsure but resolute in appearing fine, “Oh. It’s home.” 

Her lover seems more at home than she is, though, speaking carefree and with a leisurely attitude. “You should take a break.” She suggests, simple and full of care. “You’ve been working all day, haven’t you? Have a breather.” 

“There’s still so much to do…” 

“Half an hour. An hour, tops. Feed me? I came all the way here.” 

Kotori can’t tell if the new character is important because she’ll inevitably help save the day later or she’ll get tragically killed, but she is important, as is her relation with the main character. The scene lasts too long for her not to be, the chemistry between them emphasized with banter and a touch of domesticity. Both of them end up on the sofa, surrounded in an unfinished space, quietly watching television, spooned. 

Inanely, Kotori feels her chest pounding again, perhaps a bit harder than before, during the replay of the moaning-ghost scene. She decides to definitely _not_ peer up to look at Yuma right at this moment, not when she’d be at risk of exposing the train of thought she’s unwittingly having. A bite of food appears in front of her, then, Yuma suddenly holding it up. 

“Want some before it runs out?” He asks. 

“Sure.” She says, and expects him to wait while she tugs her hand out from where it's tucked between their sides, but he brings it closer to her mouth instead. Not knowing how else to respond, she opens her mouth, obliges. He feeds her. 

“Let me know.” Yuma says. It’s suddenly difficult to focus on what’s happening on screen anymore. “So you don’t have to try so hard to move. Keep your hands warm.” 

“Are they cold?” That’s part of why she’d burrowed them in like this, but mostly, it’s just a habit. Now, she unburrows them. Taking another piece like he did, she returns the favor, keeping her eyes solely on Yuma’s mouth and not any more higher. The self-imposed limitation barely counts as any help. “Here.” She murmurs. “You should have one, too.” 

“Thanks.” He says, opens his mouth and takes it between his teeth. And Kotori is resolutely not okay. Her eyes snap down, back on the movie, which is also a mistake, because she’d almost forgotten that the scene ends with the couple feeding one another on the sofa as well, playful and giggly, before it cuts to the next day. 

The next day is horrible. The resilience of the main and side characters alike are tested, and the entity violently makes itself known. This is when Kotori had, on first viewing, started feeling increasingly distressed. 

Now, taking in one more offer Yuma holds to her mouth, she’s once again feeling increasingly distressed, if for another reason entirely – and with what can, perhaps, be considered a worse reaction as well. 

* * *

Too slowly, they stop, and it might only be because they’d finished most of the snacks beforehand, anyway – before Yuma had the bright idea that they should feed each other. Kotori continues to not comment, leaving the empty bowl as it is, and silently keeps her gaze on the film, willing herself to get back into it – romantic portions be damned. 

She wishes they’d just get to the really scary parts already, and the movie grants it to her soon enough. 

Yuma groans during the nightmare sequence, the story leaving it up in the air whether or not it was just a nightmare. Unknowingly, she thinks, he curls up over her head, cheek on her hair, and hugs. And she understands, she gets it. The closer they are to the portion of the movie that she hasn’t seen yet, the more she does much of the same. Except she isn’t all that unknowing about it, has to tell herself repeatedly that he most certainly is. 

The woman on screen inches towards her sibling’s room first, eyes darting this way and that in full alert, prepared against all reason for someone, something, to appear and confront her. When she finally reaches her brother’s room, she calls his name, though he’s still in a slumber beneath his sheets. Coming forward to reach for him, she stops short. Beside her, the full-length mirror shifts just enough to catch her attention, and instead of her reflection, she sees someone else inside, only mimicking her movements, jerky and careless. Feeling her eyes on it, the creature, too, stops. It lunges. 

And Kotori turns her face away, not watching what happens next. Yuma does, jumps and yelps and flies his hand up to brace her head against his chest instinctually. Which is nice. It almost completely overcomes the image of a demonic entity charging at her. 

A scream, the woman falling back and scrambling to her little brother’s bed. She tears off the sheets desperately, but he isn’t there, the indent of his shape having existed but seemingly for no reason. Muttering his name in confusion, she pats his mattress in disbelief, and then the phone rings. There’s a moment of hesitation before she screams, “Don’t answer it!” 

It’s too late, of course, her brother having picked up the call in another room, listlessly attuned to whatever is on the other line. His sister hurries to his side, ripping the offensive object from his hand, and the distinct noise of a ringing, or a screeching, emits from the call before she ends it, slamming it down once that’s done. Just as soon, however, her television flicks to life, the same blaring noise coming from there. 

Kotori’s phone rings, making the pair jump, and just as soon, her television flickers. 

Yuma says, “What the fuck” for the both of them, still holding onto her, and their attention is successfully ripped from the movie when the lights above them flicker as well. Abruptly, the television shuts off. They gasp, Yuma repeating, quite upset, “What the fuck.” 

The phone continues to ring, but they’re too frozen in place and neither move an inch to answer it. It stops in the time that it takes for their breathing to slow down again, steady its pace, Kotori’s mind finally starting to catch up to her and what’s happened, but then the infernal device rings again. 

She says, quite hopeful, “That’s my mom.” She can’t know that, really, because it’s the same ringtone for everybody, but who else would it be? What else can it be? “I should get that?” 

“No, I don’t think you should get that.” Yuma shakes his head, holding fast onto her. Gingerly, she moves to pull back from him, and very reluctantly, complete with eyes begging her not to go, he lets her loose. 

The ringing doesn’t cease this time, whoever it is willing to wait until they can’t anymore to speak with her, it seems. As they inch towards the device, Yuma speaks up again, asking questions that Kotori wishes he could leave well enough alone. “Why did the television die out?” 

“I don’t know.” Kotori answers. She picks up the phone, pauses. Yuma’s hand also comes up, as though to stop her, but he, too, pauses. Belatedly, she says, “It’s raining.” 

“So?” 

“So, there’s interference. The… The power is affected,” she assures, unsure, “–by the weather.” 

Behind them, the light flickers again, and Kotori can’t tell whether or not that helps her argument. On its own, the television boots up again, and Kotori knows, logically, that it’s an automatic function of that model for whenever it might experience a blackout. She can’t seem to care about what’s rational right now, though, but she forces herself to take the first step – despite Yuma’s attention darting this way and that (just like the character on screen) to observe all the malfunctions of the house at the moment, like the source of those problems could suddenly take physical form and appear. Kotori answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

Her finger almost ends it when she realizes that it’s much of the same as before, a grumbling sort of static, and then an odd, soft, and constant screech. Yuma wheezes, “Hang up,” at the sound of it – when past the noise, something else, something new, breaks through. 

She doesn’t like it. 

“…’tori… K… K… _Coming_ –” 

The call ends, but not because she hangs up. The power goes out, the entire house flooded in black. 

Immediately, her and Yuma’s hands lash out until they meet, and like that, they grasp each other, squeezing. Yuma’s Gazer is quickly placed over his eye with the flashlight activated, granting him and Kotori some reprieve from the dark and the ability to see their immediate surroundings. 

The first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Hey, should we leave?” 

“The house?” She responds. 

“Yeah. The house.” He begs. 

“It’s raining.” 

“Yeah, it’s raining.” 

Her responses are on autopilot; she _is_ that person in almost every horror film who’s still just that much in denial over what’s happening that her brain’s knee-jerk reaction is still to try and push for rational explanations and depressingly mild solutions that inevitably lead to her or another character getting killed. Whatever is coming out of her mouth next is drowned out completely, however, because beneath them, coming from nowhere else but the basement, an all-encompassing moaning reverberates, actually making the floor beneath them vibrate lightly. 

So, she screams to be heard over what can be nothing else but the _demon_ that her and her mother had been completely unaware of when they purchased the house. “ _Let’s get out!_ ” 

Yuma screams back, the highest he’s had in years. “ _Okay!_ ” 

They rush to the side door. It’s entirely possible that they will both plunge themselves out into the pouring rain with inefficient footwear or cover, but before Yuma’s other hand reaches the door handle, a harsh pounding starts from the other side. Both of them jump back, briefly pressing themselves together in a panicked hug, and in time to another series of loud, desperate knocks, a roll of thunder echoes with enough volume to be heard over The Entity. 

Surrounded on all sides, beneath them and above them and now in front, Kotori does the exact opposite of what her brain was urging her to do before, pulling out of Yuma’s grasp. The time for rationale is over. They are under attack from malicious beings that could be far more deadly than anyone – anything – they’ve faced before. She jerks open the kitchen drawers, takes out a butcher knife and a pair of large scissors that have, until now, only been used on deceased crabs and lobsters. She hands Yuma the knife. 

He’s almost crying, as is she, probably. “ _What do I do with this!_ ” He asks, absolutely genuine. 

Their roles have been reversed. His brain has short-circuited. Kotori gets it, and out of compassion, however brief it must be, she explains. “ _We have to use them!_ ” 

“ _For what! I don’t know how to use this!_ ” 

“ _You do, Yuma! We have to! Just take it!_ ” 

“ _I don’t want this!_ ” But he does as she says, holding onto the knife awkwardly, obviously wishing he were holding anything else – a duel disk, perhaps, or a card, or the Key. But as of now, they don’t know if the ghost in this house can accept challenges to duels. So, excessive violence is the only thing that will have to do. 

The handle of the door jiggles, and Kotori braces herself. Yuma, as close as he is to breaking down, pushes her behind him, and the act doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s almost something she could get used to, but if she has, it’s only in the sense that she can always count on him to put himself out there for her. Even in times like these, when they might both die. 

In tune with her thoughts, Kotori hears him, not knowing if he means to be heard or not. “Are we going to die?” The door opens, Yuma pushing them both further back. 

“Kotori, didn’t you hear me ring the bell? I lost my keys to the front entrance!” Gritting her teeth, her mother hurriedly yanks the key she does still have from the lock, looking haggard and considerably more wet than Yuma had when he arrived. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushes her dripping hood from her hair, the wind and rain following her inside as she tries to shelter herself back in her home. “I lost my whole damn purse! I was trying to call you…” 

The tirade trails off before she shuts the door, but when she does, even with the demon still echoing from its chamber, Kotori takes Yuma’s wrist, grabbing the handle of the knife in his frozen hand so that she can quickly hide that and the scissors behind her back. 

“Yuma, is that you?” 

Yuma greets her in an uncharacteristically hollow voice just as the demon finally goes quiet, and all at once, every light and electronic that went out minutes ago comes back to life. The only thing to fill the renewed silence is the television booting itself up again, and a couple of beeping across the house of other electronics doing the same. All three of them look around, witness to the phenomenon, quiet, until Yuma speaks to Kotori. 

“It hates parents.” He says, correct. “In every movie, the monster can’t stand the parents, can’t stay for long around them. That’s why it stopped. A parent came and rescued us.” 

Following his logic to the letter, Kotori tries, “But we’re not kids anymore?” 

“It doesn’t matter. The monster doesn’t care, like in the movie. We’ll only be okay once we have kids, too.” 

“What’s going on?” Her mom interrupts them. “What’s happening? Is this something that has to do with the blackout?” 

“Mom, something’s wrong with this house!” Kotori directs her focus at the shining ray of hope that Yuma’s convinced her is the only buffer between the two of them and pure evil. “There was this awful noise coming from downstairs. You heard it!” 

“The… The generator?” 

“The generator?” Kotori repeats, the term, right now, completely foreign to her. 

“The generator. The one in the basement? The one that rebooted the power to the house.” 

“We have a generator?” 

“You have a generator?” Yuma asks, turning to Kotori, who, in turn, shakes her head in similar confusion. 

Finally, her mother takes off her coat, sighing, but otherwise looking relieved to be at home. “It’s one of the good things about this house.” She says. “I didn’t think it’d be that loud, but it works. We haven’t needed one in decades, though. The bus had to stop and somehow I lost my purse, Kotori. I was calling from the stop before I could get a ride back here, but I’m guessing the phone was out then, too? How long was the storm hurting the power?” 

She can’t be sure, and so Kotori doesn’t answer right away. In fact, she doesn’t answer at all, even as her mom continues to look at her waiting for one. Wracking her brain through the events tonight, one of the first thoughts that comes to mind is still how to distinguish what the storm has been responsible for from what’s been the fault of the demon. 

The only thing that breaks her train of thought is the equally stumped expression Yuma wears when he looks at her too, both of them slacked jawed and following the same logic, seeming, even, to go at the same pace. Slowly, they retrace the events of tonight, Kotori thinking back all the way to the first phonecall, connected now with her mother’s words. 

Before either of them finally reach the end of their mental journey, the older woman huffs, giving up trying to pull any more information from them, and struts past, leaving them to it. If she sees the weaponry that Kotori still holds behind her back, she refrains from commenting on it. 

The first one of them to speak is, again, Yuma. “We’re not dead?” 

“No.” Kotori answers, finally placing the scissors and knife on the counter beside her. Very belatedly, Yuma switches off his flashlight and removes his Gazer. They stand in front of each other like that, and Kotori feels what is perhaps a mutual inclination to either hug in relief or unjustly hash each other out for letting themselves get carried away with all this. 

They do neither, the television making a new noise now, the movie coming back to life and playing. Kotori stomps to the sitting area, snatching the remote and turning the thing off. 

Yuma quietly trails behind her, unobjecting, the next thing to come out of his mouth only, “Where do I sleep?” 

* * *

Both of them sleep on the couch. 

The night (or early morning) ends with a working television and a romantic comedy that might be widely considered equally as horrendous as the previous movie they just tried (and failed, for now) to finish – but it’s better, Kotori feels, for both their mental health. It puts them to sleep, making it their second movie that they made a point of watching only to leave unfinished today. 

Her mother could have stayed at the stop that was closest to where her bus broke down, but when one passenger was willing to share a ride service with her since they were going in the same direction anyway, she took it, leaving her home number and Kotori’s with the staff at location in case her purse came up in Lost and Found later. Exhausting as the failed trip was, as well as explaining it to her supervisor, she’d retired earlier than Kotori and Yuma. 

The last scene Kotori sees before she nods off is of the tacky couple in a makeshift carnival, looking entirely too sweet as they pass through a haunted maze. Another cheaply dressed werewolf jumps out, scares the lady right into her man’s arms, and he laughs, “I’ll protect you from the monsters.” 

Yuma’s breathing has been deep and even for a while now under her cheek, and figuring that he must be asleep, she huffs, murmuring to him. “You’re a better boyfriend than that loser.” 

“Yeah.” Yuma replies sleepily, but his voice nearly robs Kotori of every ounce of sleep and exhaustion she’s earned at this point. “See him save his girl from the real monsters.” 

Decisively, she keeps quiet, leaving the exchange like that. Ten minutes later, she chances looking up, and finds that he really is asleep now. They’re both tired. He won’t remember that in the morning (or afternoon). He probably didn’t think it through just now. 

Kotori turns back to the screen with a sigh, smile wry and eyes drooping closed. “Your girl, huh?” His chest is warm. She sleeps. 


End file.
